


Family Fun Times

by flowersalesman



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Family Bonding, Gen, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22175665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersalesman/pseuds/flowersalesman
Summary: There is someone in Gravity Falls making comic books that are more popular than Stan's.Obviously, he cannot stand for this.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Family Fun Times

**Author's Note:**

> if i had my way this would be 10k and full of fun hijinks wherein the pines family try to figure out and harrass the person publishing comic books. sadly, i had both a word limit and not enough ideas.
> 
> anyway, i wrote this a while ago! havent really done any editing since then. i've forgotten most of what was in here.

“There’s something  _ fishy  _ going on around here,” Stan said with narrowed eyes, feet set on the table and crossed at the ankles.

Ford, across from him, nodded sagely. His hands were clasped in front of his mouth. His glasses glinted, eerily reminiscent of the occasion where he was briefly a manga character. “You’re right. There’s something wrong with this entire situation, but I can’t quite put my finger on  _ what.” _

“Glad you agree.” Stan clapped his hands together and  _ thumped  _ his chair back down to the floor. “Comic sales have  _ really  _ dropped recently. It’s not natural.  _ Someone’s  _ gotta be doing something.”

"Ye- wait. What? I was talking about the pixies."

"Psshh. Those are old news-"

"They're actively burying people alive."

"-yeah, yeah, whatever, that's definitely important to a few people, probably. But listen. Comic sales have really tanked for me, and there's definitely something off about it."

Ford looked down, staring at the papers he'd strewn across the table. Currently, in Gravity Falls, there was a group of pixies that kept on kidnapping people and burying them alive. He thought it was very concerning. Stan thought it was less concerning, since the pixies just buried them up to their chest and made their lower bodies look like mermaids, but it was still a very serious situation and a lot of people were quite miffed.

Maybe things were getting just a little boring, actually.

"Okay," Ford said. "Sure. Comic sales aren't good. How is that weird?"

"Because I'm great at those comics. Kids love 'em. They've been eating it all up since last week, even when we were out sailing and I had to make Soos do all the 'independent publication,' so why now?"

This wasn't a mystery. Ford probably had better things to do than assure his brother that, yes, he was still talented, and there was definitely a legitimate reason why kids didn't like his comics about a kid who ran what was probably a multi-level marketing scheme, but... well. If he was going to be honest with himself, the pixies weren't really a big deal. They always caused some sort of chaos. The whole "burying people and making dirt mermaids out of them" was probably another one of those memes, which was impossible to fight against.

Being supportive was still something he needed to practice, anyway. Aiding Stan with something he cared about couldn't ever be a bad idea. Probably. Possibly.

"Alright, I get it," Ford said guilelessly. "Have you tried asking the kids who come by why they don't buy from you anymore?"

Stan narrowed his eyes. "Not yet."

—

"I dunno, Mister," Little Jimmy said, examining his fingernails. He leaned against the wall of the Gift Shop, where he purposefully walked after Stan tried to corner him. "What's this about come-icks? I can't seem to remember. Maybe a little bit of...  _ motivation  _ will help grind the gears a little, if you catch my drift."

"Don't sass me, Little Jimmy!" Stan shook his fist. "You know as well as I do that you're the biggest comic buyer in town! Talk!"

"What year is it?" Dipper asked no one. He sat behind the register, staring on with bemusement. "Why is his name Little Jimmy? Why is he asking for money? He's eight. Is this what the 60s were like?"

Mabel tsked and draped her arm over the counter. "Oh, Dipper. So innocent. So untainted by the world." She stared off into the distance. The  _ haunted-by-what-i've-seen _ look was definitely something she practiced in the mirror. "I wish I could be like that too. The way I used to be."

"No, I mean, I definitely understand what's happening here. Little Jimmy is trying to extort money from Grunkle Stan. I just don't know how he learned this?"

Soos stopped sweeping and looked to them. "Oh, that's easy," he said. "That kid loves Mr. Pines' comic series. Read all of them. I think he started some, like, underground candy smuggling ring?"

"Can't prove I was the one who did it," Little Jimmy said, clearly guilty. "Can you guys stop now? We were doing something here."

"No we weren't!" Stan yelled, throwing his arms in the air. "Just tell me why none of your little friends aren't buying my comics anymore!"

Little Jimmy shrugged. "I'd love to tell you, it's just the economy. You know."

"Does he even know what economy means?" Dipper asked Mabel.

"I barely know what economy means," Mabel told him.

Stan cursed under his breath. "Fine, fine, just- hang on a sec."

He rustled through his pockets. The front ones came up empty, as did the back, his jacket, three of the hidden pockets, until-

"A-ha!" He pulled his beanie off, grabbing something from underneath. "Here. Have this."

Little Jimmy stared cautiously at Stan's outstretched palm. Slowly, carefully, he extended his own hand, and Stan dropped what he was holding.

The Gift Shop was silent. It was a Sunday, so no tours were booked, and locals didn't usually care to come by. Little Jimmy examined what he held in the tense atmosphere.

“What are these,” he said moments later. There was an alarming lack of emotion in his voice.

“It’s- it’s black licorice,” Stan said. “They’re shaped like dogs. Good for kids.”

The kid stared at them with disgust, primly plucking a gray hair from the candy. 

“Am I supposed to  _ eat  _ this?” he asked with a grimace.

“What? No.” Stan looked taken aback. “Of course not. They’re good luck. Keep ‘em under your hat, or in your pocket or whatever.”

Little Jimmy’s grimace vanished. “Oh. That’s fine then.” He pocketed the dog-shaped licorice. “Anyway, there’s been a new comic on the market. It has giant robots, swords, giant robots with swords- real popular, you know how it is. As the lead dealer in the, ah,  _ fine arts-” _

_ “What does that mean,”  _ Soos whispered.

“I think he collects comics or something,” Mabel whispered back.

Little Jimmy rolled his eyes and continued,  _ “Anyway,  _ I tend to know what’s in trend and what’s...  _ out.  _ And listen, gramps-”

“I’m going to go to your house and drink all your milk,” Stan told him.

“-I’m a big fan of your work, but compared to giant sword robots? It’s out.”

Stan stumbled backwards, clutching at his chest. Soos surged forward to catch him. His broom clattered to the ground

_ “Say it isn’t so,”  _ Stan said, heartbroken.

“Come on, Little Jimmy,” Soos pleaded, “at least tell us who’s making the other comics! Mr. Pines can’t take this sort of rejection!”

Little Jimmy shook his head mournfully. “No can do, Pineses. The guy who makes those things is a rich hermit- he can pay to publish his own stuff in local bookstores and no one has to know where he lives. Man’s a mystery to us all. Anyway, bye.”

With that, Little Jimmy spun on his heel and made his way out the door. Ford popped up from behind the stand where Stan set out his comic series.

“Was that Little Jimmy?” Ford asked. “Drat, I wanted to talk to him. Did you know he has an underground candy smuggling ring? That can’t be normal. I didn’t even know there was illegal candy.”

Mabel  _ tsked,  _ folding her arms and shaking her head. “You and Dipper. So pure. So untainted by the realities of the world.”

“That’s not- never mind.” Ford stepped towards Stan and Soos, knees creaking with every footfall. “I think I’ve figured out why kids aren’t buying your comics anymore.”

“I know why,” Stan said balefully. “They found something else. Something  _ new.” _

“No, it’s- wait. You’re right. How did you know?”

“I asked one of the kids that buys my comic books. You told me to do that.”

“Oh, right.” Ford held out a hand to Stan, hauling him up when his wrist was clasped. “I read your comics, and there’s actually a concerning amount of swearing—I’m genuinely surprised parents haven’t complained yet-”

“Every time they try I pretend the Shack’s closed,” Stan said.

“I just shoo them off with a broom,” Soos said.

“-never mind. I just figure that anything with swears would be popular with kids, so I determined that the  _ only  _ reason they’d stop buying them is if they found something cooler with even  _ more  _ swears.”

“Uh, Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked. “Why would that be the only reason? A lot of things can influence comic sales.”

Ford stared at him incredulously. “Do you  _ really  _ think that there would be a better explanation as to why a  _ kid’s comic  _ with  _ swears  _ would stop selling? Don’t be ridiculous.”

"Yeah, Dipper, don't be ridiculous," Mabel said.

Dipper threw up his arms and slumped deeper into his chair.

“I know what I need to do,” Stan told the room grimly. He set a fist on his hip, pointing to the door with his other hand.  _ “We need to go egg the comic book store!” _

Dipper, Mabel, and Soos cheered.

—

“What’s egging the comic book store going to do?” Ford asked.

Stan shifted the cartons of eggs he was holding for easier gesticulating. “Easy. No one wants to go to a store with eggs all over it. Then the town will only have  _ one  _ place to buy comics, and  _ I  _ get all their money.  _ Hahahahaha!” _

Dipper and Mabel, both holding their own cartons, joined in on his maniacal laughter.

Ford thought about it. His steps never faltered beside Stan, though he was staring into the clouds

“Fair enough,” he concluded. “But it’s the middle of the day. How are you not going to get caught?”

“Psh, you kidding me? We can outrun Blubs and Durland any day of the week.”

They reached the comic book store. It was across from the movie theater, with flaking blue paint and a sign that read  _ “COMICS, COMICS, COMICS! WE GOT NOTHING ELSE! NO REAL BOOKS HERE!”  _ displayed in the window.

“I bet  _ these  _ guys don’t call ‘em graphic novels,” Stan mumbled.

“Less talking, more egging!” Mabel threw an entire container of eggs at the side of the store. It made an unsatisfying splatter and slid down the window. “Darn. I wanted to make Soos proud.”

Stan shrugged. “Eh, someone had to stay behind to keep the Shack open, and he’s always happy to do that.”

He leaned over and set his armful of eggs on the ground, Dipper and Mabel following. Ford didn’t buy his own eggs since he figured ten dozen was enough for two stores. 

“Arm yourselves, men,” Stan told them. “We have a corporation to take down.”

The four of them readied their weapons, then took fire.

By the time five minutes had passed they were mostly through with their eggs and the storefront window was runny with yolk. Between cartons, Dipper paused, wiping sweat off his forehead.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman on her phone.

“Uh, guys?” he said. “I think maybe doing this out in the open might’ve actually been a bad idea.”

“Can it, Dipper! We still have eggs left!” Stan yelled. The comic book store opened, and he nailed a patron right in the head as they were running to leave.  _ “Ha ha!  _ Suck it!”

“No, guys, I think someone’s called the-”

_ "Police!  _ Put your hands up!"

Stan stared at the police officer, brandishing a baton. Then he stared at the egg in his hand. 

The egg, without further ado, found its way on the police officer's face.

_ "I thought it was going to be Blubs and Durland again!"  _ Mabel screeched, running for the hills. "Not the competent ones!"

Ford very efficiently pelted the cop and the car with his own eggs, allowing Mabel and Stan to get in the Stanmobile. After they buckled in, Ford vaulted over the roof and dove into the passenger seat.

The cop was still wiping his face off by the time they were gone.

“Um,” Dipper said. “I was just, uh- I’ll be going now.”

He made a run for it. The cop, recovered from the assault, grabbed the collar of his vest and hefted him off the ground.

“Oh,  _ no  _ you don’t, young man,” he said sternly. “We are going to have a  _ long  _ talk.”

“Why do  _ I  _ always get caught,” Dipper muttered.

—

“Did anyone see where Dipper went?” Mabel asked when they reached the Shack. “I thought he got shoved in the trunk or something, but there wasn’t any screaming the entire ride here.”

“Dunno,” Stan said. “Wasn’t he in the back seat? I thought I saw him there.”

“That was me, Grunkle Stan.”

“Oh.”

Ford strode into the house in front of them. “I think he stayed behind to throw the cops off. We might have to break him out of jail tonight.”

The other two groaned.

“That’s the  _ third time  _ this month,” Mabel said. “Why do we keep getting arrested? We’re not doing anything wrong.

Stan sniffled and wiped a tear from his eye. “You’re making me proud, sweetie.” 

“What’s up, dudes?” Soos asked when they congregated in the gift shop. “Get your revenge and all that? Wish I was there.”

“Sure, but we need to break Dipper out of jail again,” Stan told him.

“Was that really revenge?” Ford questioned. “I mean, sure, we vandalized the shop and they might not be able to sell anything for a while, but there’s still a rich hermit somewhere writing these comics in the first place. Why don’t we go find him, take down his empire?”

“Now that’s a great idea,” Stan said, “but we don’t know who he is, and I don’t wanna do all the work of finding him.”

“But someday...” Mabel clenched her fist. “Someday, we will find him. And on that day,  _ he will know no mercy.” _

Stan ruffled her hair. “That’s my girl. Now let’s go and find your nerd brother.”

—

In a mansion on top of a hill—previously known as the Northwest Mansion, though the ownership changed in the past year—an old, rich hermit drew up some more giant-sword-robot designs, making them yell at each other in obscene ways.

McGucket held up his work, staring at it critically. “Welp, this one looks good for publishin’! Guess I’m done with my work for today! Wow, I sure hope no one with a plan for vengeance finds out that I’m self-publishing my comic book series about giant robots with swords.”

Then he walked off to bed.


End file.
